“When your hands go out,love, toward mine,what do they bring me flying?Why did they stopat my mouth, suddenly,why do I recognize themas if then, before,I had touched them,as if before they existedthey had passed overmy forehead, my waist?

Their softness cameflying over time,over the sea, over the smoke,over the spring,and when you placedyour hands on my chest,I recognized those goldendove wings,I recognized that clayand that color of wheat.

All the years of my lifeI walked around looking for them.I went up the stairs,I crossed the roads,trains carried me,waters brought me,and in the skin of the grapesI thought I touched you.The wood suddenlybrought me your touch,the almond announced to meyour secret softness,until your handsclosed on my chestand there like two wingsthey ended their journey.”

23yo babe, passionate about life, mostly into walking into the woods, wandering through new cities and reading loads whilst listening to Van Halen. I'm the type of girl who brings a book at the party to mislead the idiots and ends up stripping her soul away when the music gets louder.